


Strong

by theartofnotwriting



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:23:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1674584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theartofnotwriting/pseuds/theartofnotwriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meryl Davis did not cry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strong

Meryl Davis did not cry.

When she was nine years old and they forced her to skate with a boy (even though she TOLD them it was a bad idea), he skated over her pinky finger after she fell. Her coach rushed over to bring her to her mom, but when they got to her, she just stood up, brushed herself off, and asked for a band aid so she could keep skating.

When she was eleven, she was finally starting to open up and tried to start making friends (mostly at the rink, of course, because the other kids at school didn't understand). Just as she was making some headway in the friendship department, she heard the group of girls she'd started talking to. They said things like "poofy hair" and "weird face" and "ugly dress" and she knew they meant hers. She let the locker room door bang closed behind her and got onto the ice. Charlie looked up, ready to start practicing their new dance pattern. She grabbed his hand and pulled him along.

At thirteen, she had her first crush. The boy who worked at the food stand at the rink and gave her a free cookie when they got burnt (and tasted just as good). She didn't like the feeling of her face burning when she talked to him, and she didn't like the smoke-y thing he did outside on his breaks, but she did like the happy, swoopy feeling in her stomach when he was around, because it felt like going down the big hills on the rollercoasters at the park. And she was sure he felt the same way. That is, until he brought the girl with the tattoos and the shiny ring on her lip and the dark eyes to see where he worked. And she saw them kissing (gross!) outside with the smoke coming from the thing in his hand. So maybe he didn't like her after all. She went out with Charlie for pizza after skating and he used his quarter to buy her a plastic ring and she forgot about the smoke boy and the tattoo girl.

At nineteen, her first ever boyfriend broke up with her. His name was Liam and he had big brown eyes with hair to match and he wore the most comfortable sweatshirts and he was the smartest guy she'd ever probably met. She never really saw him though except for in classes, and she wasn't allowed to talk to him then because he was busy focusing on the lesson or whatever. Four months later, he told her it wasn't working out, and she was sad but figured she'd spoken to him for about a total of 10 minutes in the past month anyway, so it probably wasn't a terrible loss. Charlie ordered pizza and brought movies anyway, because he wanted a chance to support her and that's what partners do, so she let him.

Cup of Russia in 2008 was rough, to put it lightly. Most people forgot about it after a while, but it would be years before Meryl could let it go. They really screwed up. Charlie beat himself up for months, begging her to stay extra long at practice and promising he wouldn't do it again, but she didn't really mind. After they'd gotten off the ice, she threw her arm around him and patted his knee and they got their scores and that was that. They did better the next day. She was mad, sure, but it wouldn't happen again. They'd work harder. They'd be better.

Being the first American ice dancers to win a world gold medal was big, and they were proud. Proud of each other, proud of their commitment, proud of their hard work, proud proud proud. She hugged him and kissed his cheek and she swore her lips tasted a salty tear, but she didn't say a word. They waved and the people cheered, and she let him cover it up because he hated being weak and he hated when she was the only strong one.

Seventeen years was what everyone kept repeating. They whispered it in the village, they exclaimed it in interviews, they were shouting it from the rooftops. Meryl Davis and Charlie White culminate their seventeen year partnership with an Olympic gold medal. But she didn't really feel like "seventeen years" covered it properly. It wasn't just the years. It was the 4am wake up calls and sleepily tying their skates in the locker room. It was every time he lifted her up and spun her around and she felt infinite. Their lifts couldn't last forever, but sometimes she felt like they just might. It was the quiet lunches they shared when she'd show him pictures of cute dogs and he would watch hockey on his phone. It was the family dinners, the movie nights, the accidental sleepovers, the shared secrets, every laugh, every smile, every single second of it. Sure, that all happened in the seventeen years, but it just seemed too general to sum it up in those two words.

Winning Dancing with the Stars was great and she wouldn't have been happy with anything else and that trophy sure was cool, but none of it equaled a gold medal. It wasn't seventeen years of blood, sweat, and tears; it wasn't the feeling of finishing a free dance and feeling the cool rink air and hearing the applause. It wasn't with Charlie.

He wasn't Charlie.

Charlie went home after the show ended. He called her a few times for advice on house decorating and once to invite her to the housewarming party. It was really nice, she discovered when the media swarm ended and she finally got to visit. It was by a river and DJ loved having a big yard and it was close to home. Close to the rink. Close to her. They took DJ for a walk one day, just him and her. Tanith was out for the day. She missed it, and she told him so. She missed the training and the work and seeing him every day. She missed the show, because at least he was nearby. She missed them. He put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulders and DJ ran ahead to chase a bug she saw. Meryl leaned against his shoulder and sighed. Her vision blurred and she sniffled quietly, swiping at the wetness on her cheeks.

Meryl Davis did not cry.

But she cried for him.


End file.
